


Spice and Honey

by Estellos



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Blood, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forest Sex, Roughness, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Some Plot, Vaginal Sex, Vampire Bites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27279070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estellos/pseuds/Estellos
Summary: "Would you like me to beinterestedin you?" Astarion rubs a thumb across her cheek, holding the side of her head gently in his palm. "Hm? Would you want that?" He's entranced by the way her eyes shift with indecision, like she's plagued with mortality and all its never-ending choices.orAstarion further acquaints himself with the pretty half-elf in his party.
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Female Charname (Baldur's Gate)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 177





	1. Midnight Delights

The nightly roast of the campsite is suspiciously quiet. Fire crackles against Elyra's ear as she rips down another side from a tree squirrel. She hunches over the creature, skinning the rest of the fur away and revealing a soft, rose-colored layer beneath.

Samaer would have laughed if he saw her now, buckled over and doing men's work for a party of unappreciative fools. She considers leaving the meal preparation at that. One squirrel would be enough for her, and it doesn't seem as though the others will join her in the feast. She wonders how well he and the rest of the wood elves are faring without her talent. Elyra had been one of few who enjoyed hunting, and one that was exceptionally proficient at it.

"I see you've done well for yourself again. Call me impressed." Wyll's agreeable voice takes some edge off her mind. Elyra cracks another squirrel's tailbone, stripping the skin off in a single, swift motion. He has one of those damning smiles that can lull anyone into doing whatever he pleases. She snorts. He reminds her too much of Samaer.

"There's a stream not too far down the mountain. I'll catch supper for tomorrow if you work on a squirrel for me?" Another pop of bone melts into the sound of the fire. Elyra turns her head, the warmth lingering for a moment longer.

"I'll see what I can do." Her expression softens.

Wyll beams appreciatively, reaching out to pull back a lock of her hair falling among the flames. The copper red catches in the light. It's a familiar color, and the warlock can't help but rasp out a sigh of apprehension. In the shadows that surround them, fire frisking softly under a pale moon, Elyra looks gentler than Mizora.

"Good girl." He says.

The touch is unexpected. She feels a burn in her cheeks. It's a fleeting emotion, one of nothing more than misplaced affection, but Elyra can't know this for certain. She's all but experienced when it comes to the thralls of love.

A flush of guilt creeps up her skin, replacing that sickly-sweet feeling. She recognizes the presence watching them. Her eyes flicker towards the other end of the camp, deep green meeting crimson. Astarion's lingering gaze suddenly brings her back to her senses. He's listening to Gale all the while, licking his lips absently.

"I'll make good on my promise." Wyll reassures her. He pats her on the shoulder and disappears, presumably to sleep, but Elyra can't understand how anyone could come to ignore the night sky. Stars bathe her in white light, undying.

The forest smells fresh. Branches dance in the distance, inviting the wood elf to explore the wilderness freely. She misses it.

She wipes the bit of blood on a cloth, and thinks it wouldn't be too much of an offense to seek some repose away from the others. She's rummaging through her quiver when Astarion saunters her way. His doublet is loosely fastened, undershirt visible.

"Hello, Astarion." She hums.

Astarion looks at her with expectation, ashen hair framing his face handsomely and catching her attention. Elyra stops arranging her mismatched arrows. Her fingertips brush against the ends, feathers soft and wispy.

"You look hungry." She glances up at him. Astarion grins, fangs prodding his lower lip.

"Yes, I am a bit famished as of late. It must be ... the carrion you've trapped." He gestures towards the pile of skinned squirrels and scrunches up his face. The hint of disgust laced in his voice is apparent. He makes his displeasure perfectly obvious, provoking almost. "How appetizing." He says dully.

Elyra continues to wind a piece of string across the arrow in hand. She should feel immensely annoyed, and rightly so for going through the trouble, but something about the elf makes her amiable. She turns to the fire, a half-smile tugging up the corners of her mouth.

"Would you have me trod off into the woods at this hour, Astarion?" Her tone betrays her. Astarion likes it when she's cheeky, savors it really.

"My darling, please. What could be more ferocious than you?"

"Anything. A mind flayer, a devil, a bear."

"Hm." He clicks his tongue in defeat. "I suppose that is true. You're not ... invincible." It's a whisper that makes her skin prick, gooseflesh spreading across her arms. Elyra stands up to meet his stare. He's emboldened by her reciprocity, nearly taking it upon himself to reach out for that alluring neck of hers.

"If you'd like, I can quickly fetch something, but I can't offer much in terms of variety." Elk would nearly be impossible to find in the dark. Then there's the problem of capturing one alive. Astarion rarely drinks from a corpse, so she has to rule out dragging a two-hundred pound stag back to the campsite. Astarion dismissively waves his hand.

"That's quite alright. I have a preference for something a touch more _spirited_ tonight. A half-elf." He purrs. He's edging closer now, fingers scouring for her heat. Elyra pauses for a moment, her smile disconnected from her eyes.

"Shadowheart is with Lae'zel. I'm afraid you'll have to wait for a taste of her — if she's privy to it." A trace of bitterness follows her words, and she's back to concentrating on her arrows. Shadowheart is intolerable sometimes. Not because she's particularly unpleasant, but because of her clear attraction to Astarion. Elyra can't fathom why it bothers her to this degree, but it does, and she'd rather not be in the company of Astarion when he seeks her out.

"Oh, darling. Your quips are so endearing, you know." He laughs, teeth in full view.

"I've been told." She says dryly. Elyra begins to walk away when he takes the opportunity to step in front of her. Astarion closes the space between them further, gingerly brushing back a piece of hair behind her ear. He admires the curve. It doesn't have a sharp edge to it, rounded slightly, but certainly not of human origin.

As Gale would put it, she's a paragon of chaos. Magic is twisted in her veins. Her blood has been diluted of its magical properties, but the potential is there, and her fey ancestry even makes charms such as sleep spells ineffective. She can't say she's found much use in being a half-elf otherwise.

" _You're the best of both_." Samaer's voice throbs inside her skull.

"Unfortunately, I wasn't referring to Shadowheart." Astarion whispers, fingers curled under her chin. Elyra furrows her brows in confusion. With the endless amount of banter between the pair, Elyra was confident that he would soon venture into the brunette's bed. "What's the matter? You look quite lost."

He brings his mouth towards her own, their breath mingling with one another's. Astarion is eager to drink from her again. He had nearly killed her on the first night, partaking in every drop of blood he could force from her unwilling, little body. He couldn't resist. She was as succulent and savory as a tender cut of lamb.

"Forgive me. You've been working on her for the past two days. It's only natural to assume that you have no interest in me."

"Would you like me to be _interested_ in you?" Astarion rubs a thumb across her cheek, holding the side of her head gently in his palm. "Hm? Would you want that?" He's entranced by the way her eyes shift with indecision, like she's plagued with mortality and all its never-ending choices.

"Not in particular." She smirks.

"You're such a wit. I should have you know that I enjoyed you. Immensely." He tries to keep from drooling at the memory. "True, I was hoping that the cleric would be the kind soul that you were decidedly not. I suspected that you were ... invulnerable to all my wonderful charms. Clearly, I misjudged you, and _her_ for that matter." He adds, comparing the two half-elves and their converse personalities. They're like day and night, Elyra and Shadowheart, and Astarion much rather prefers the day's warmth now that he remembers how it kisses his skin.

"Are you referring to when we first met?" She asks, indignant.

"I can't say I wouldn't have done the same, darling, and I'm rather delighted about the way it all turned out. You looked ravishing with a knife at your throat, squirming in my arms, those emerald eyes _pleading_ with me. It was a delicious sight." A sigh of pleasure resounds. Elyra throws the quiver behind her back, decidedly ignoring the vampire's advances.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Astarion. Please make yourself sufferable and leave me alone. I'm sure you can very well find someone else to trifle with, preferably someone not in our party." She begins to walk towards the edge of the forest, Astarion calling out to her with another playful remark.

"Are all wood elves so reclusive?" He asks. She rolls her eyes, twisting her neck back to see his gorgeous features.

"Just the one. Keep watch."

"It's your singular charm then. Hurry back soon, darling. I can't go on without spying your pretty face."

‡

Moonlight patters through the foliage of the trees as she steps carefully. Elyra returns to camp, slender fingers wrapped tightly around the bow. Her throat is throbbing, a pulse beating in her head, urging her to continue. The tadpole is restless.

She's expecting Astarion to greet her with open arms and teeth, but he's nowhere to be found. As she slips into the light of her area, candles still sparsely decorating the ground, Elyra manages to quiet her voice.

"Hello?" She whispers, cautious not to disturb the others as she wobbles around in darkness. "Of course he's disappeared." The redhead mumbles to herself, somewhat disappointed by his absence. She was just warming up to him earlier.

She returns to her belongings. An unlocked chest filled with her smallclothes, a scarce amount of jewelry, and all of her arrow tools lie in the corner of her bunk. Her fingers move to undo her braid, next unfastening the leather strapped around her chest. The latches on her boots come last. She has the mind to blow out the candles, each shooting up a burst of smoke when extinguished.

Elyra strips down to nothing, the chill of the night air sweeping over her skin. Her nostrils widen, taking in the coolness into her lungs, sighing out a soft sound when she does. It's quiet. The curtains of her tent sway, and she feels something lurch in front of her.

A faint breeze blows against her face, and in the shadows that had formed emerges a silhouette. She's about to scream for Wyll, tell him to burn the entire campsite down before frigid hands curl around her wrists. She hesitates to attack her assailant, shrinking back for what's to come, but relaxes when she hears the husky voice drawl.

"I've been waiting for you. You're a naughty, little vixen for leaving me to myself." Astarion breathes into her ear, tongue running over his teeth.

Instinctively, she grabs onto his shoulders, closing in the gap between their bodies. She feels nothing more than a delicate layer of cloth against her breasts. Astarion jolts at the sensation, conscious of how incredibly hot her skin is.

"Eager, are we?" He groans. Blood rushes up to her cheeks as embarrassment sets in, forcing her to hold onto him. She's under the impression that he can see in this pitch blackness.

"Such a shame that you hide that exquisite body from me. I don't want you to catch a chill, my darling. Unless you want to light a candle or two — "

"Absolutely not." Elyra interjects.

"Must I get you into the mood then?" His fingers move down to her lower back, inches away from the round curve of her body. She wonders why he stops, but is grateful that he has. She loosens the grip on his shoulders as comfort eases her mind. It must be the tadpole's doing again, wretched thing. "Wood elves are so ... adorable." He finds the right word, purring out a melodic hum from within his chest.

The feeling of his hands is so intimate, rubbing against her skin as though they belong there. Astarion slides his fingers underneath her chin once more. She looks up receptively, seeing the vague outline of his face.

He pushes his hand down, the one hovering above her ass, and enthusiastically cups it. It's a light touch, one full of restraint.

"Tilt up, darling. You're too short without your boots." He doesn't need to elaborate. There's no pretense in the obscene tremble of his voice. She considers shoving him away, that's what Helsin and her companions would advise her to do in any case. The druid, of course, would encourage her to do so for more nefarious reasons.

Then the tadpole slithers in her head. The presence is nearly unbearable for her, and she's made all the more aware of the time she has remaining. She thinks back to her trysts in the human cities, how she avoided Samaer and the other gorgeous, long-haired elves despite taking to them. She was always afraid of word of mouth. It was a small, elven community inside the Reaching Woodlands after all.

Astarion's red eyes glint under the moon. He's mischievous tonight, good-natured. She wonders why she had never ventured as far as to see Baldur's Gate. It must have been beautiful with all its bright stars and tavern songs. She can't help but feel a tinge of envy for having not met the magistrate sooner.

He's breathing hot air on her neck. As she sees it, there's nothing she really has to lose in this affair. If she's going to die one way or another, and possibly soon, she may as well have some excitement. Elyra rests her weight on her toes, Astarion pulling her close against his eager mouth, and they melt together in a kiss.

It's sweetness. His tongue slides against hers, a wet and warm sensation prompting her to whine. A part of her is aching with desire. Astarion adores it, squeezing another handful of her flesh, deepening his embrace. Elyra tilts her head for a better angle. He's gradually leaning into her, making a spectacle of it all.

"You're _delectable_." He says in between another kiss. She croons, approving, her fingers curling into his thick hair. They catch, and she tugs him down for another kiss, and another.

"Don't stop." She sighs. It feels like rapture. Astarion can't help but lose himself in return.

A rattle against one of the other bunks nearly frightens them apart. He clutches her tighter. Rustling feathers and a wobbling gait shakes towards them, a screech resounding in the elf's ear. Elyra hears a distinct voice instead, owing it to her abilities as a ranger. Beady, flaxen eyes emerge behind a pot.

"Food. Hungry." The owlbear brushes against Elyra's naked legs. She laughs.

"Do tell me you're planning to get rid of it soon. What's the point of having it along if I can't feed on the beast?" He pulls her back into his chest possessively. Despite the dark, he can sense her persistent smile challenge him. "Oh, you're joking." He huffs. Elyra moves to pick up the cub, the creature delightedly nestling against her breasts.

"Soft. Warm." She bounces it in her arms like an infant. Jealousy piles in Astarion's stomach as he tries to get the better of his emotions. He isn't finished with tasting her yet, and he would damn his pride to just get a step further. They hadn't even gotten to the main course.

"I want a turn as well." He pouts, nails delicately tracing the scars on her arm. He has them memorized by now. "Shall I ask for more than a peck on the lips?" His honey voice drips sex in her ear, and her skin begins to flush a shade darker.

"You'll have to wait until the morrow, Astarion. I assume your appetite won't be gone?"

"Quite." He grumbles. "Well, if it's all the same to you, I'll be over there, licking my wounds." He can't help but try one last time, a show of pity gracing his face. Elyra shakes her head in disapproval. She doesn't need to see him to know a poor attempt at manipulation. She's much too perceptive, too perceptive for her own good he might say.

"Sleep well then, sweetheart. I'll make sure there are no _unwanted_ intruders disturbing your bedroll."


	2. Down by the River

She fills her dress with mulberries, taking turns between devouring the sticky bulbs of fruit and watching Shadowheart bathe in the river. The wood elf is lost inside her mind, not especially concerned with anything of importance as she splays herself on the bank. Keeping watch is usually tedious, yet on this occasion, Elyra is filled with the memory of last night to keep her entertained.

As she slides another berry across her lips, she remembers that Astarion's tongue felt like velvet.

She wonders if the others have a clue about what occurred. They're not likely to think highly of it, but Elyra can't bring herself to care about their opinions, not when the tadpole still swims in her brain. She watches Shadowheart throw her head back, beads of water dripping into the river. Elyra dips her feet inside.

"I'm nearly through." The cleric calls out, brushing out the damp ends of her hair. Elyra nods. Minnows begin to sweep across her skin, spinning around her ankles. She listens closely to the pattering of the ripples they make. Their voices sound distorted underwater, but she can sense their curiosity as they bump against her feet.

Shadowheart suddenly yells, dashing towards the edge of the river where Elyra is sitting, which causes the fish to squirm away in a panic.

"What's wrong?" Elyra asks, bow already in her palm by the time Shadowheart has the mind to grab her clothes. The brunette begins to hurriedly fasten the pieces, metals glinting under the sun, and she turns to face the other half-elf. An unsightly sneer plasters across her face. Shadowheart thinks it to be obvious, the unpleasantness of the wilds and how she can't even take her pleasure in baths. The simplest of luxuries has been stripped away from her by the infernal parasite throbbing in her skull.

That's enough to make her resentful. Perhaps, she thinks, Elyra is used to such unsophisticated means of living. She was the only one ready to sleep on the forest floor in their first nights together. The rest, including the cleric, were less than pleased about their circumstances. Having four walls of privacy and a feather bed was sorely missed.

Shadowheart pushes her disgust away for the time being.

"There was something terribly grotesque. Slimy." She affirms, buckling the straps on her arms. Elyra rolls her eyes. Of course there's going to be fish in a river. The entitlement of some of her companions never fails to amaze her. Astarion had even pulled her nerves when he referred to sleeping in the woods as novel. It was a very kind way of putting it. Although, she couldn't stay upset at him for too long, not when she considers the elf's charming visage.

"Have you seen Astarion?" Shadowheart asks. Elyra flinches, as though she's caught thinking about something crude. Surely the cleric isn't prodding her mind ajar, is she? Elyra turns to study her face. There's no sign of deception, nothing of the sort. It could very well have been an innocent question.

"No." She says. "Why? I'm not his keeper." Her tone carries a slight suspicion.

"It's nothing. I just thought he might be half-starved. He's been acting unlike himself all morning, yet he hasn't touched any of us. Strange." Elyra understands now, it's simply her way of asking if Astarion had fed from the wood elf last night. She doesn't particularly see the appeal herself, but Elyra suspects that Shadowheart finds the whole ordeal an intimate act.

"Then you should offer him your throat. I'm sure he'll happily partake since you seem so enthusiastic." Elyra laughs. A flush blossoms in Shadowheart's cheeks. She's a bit embarrassed, and shocked that Elyra could have such a sharp wit about her.

"I've no doubt. Perhaps I will later." She says. "Do you need me here? I have a few other matters to attend to, if you don't mind?"

"Go ahead. I suppose I can fetch Lae'zel." Elyra snaps back the string of her bow. She's aiming at a sparrow perched among the treetops. Shadowheart snorts with disapproval.

"I wish you good fortune with that." A trace of sarcasm drips from her mouth. Elyra ignores her, watching the little, spotted bird flit from branch to branch. When Shadowheart is finally out of earshot, Elyra slowly winds her shoulders down. She had just needed to distract herself, appear busy.

She glances to the ground, the pail she had brought with her nearly drifting into the river and carried by its torrent. She leaps for its rusted handle. The goblins were bewildered that she insisted on a bucket of all things to be forked over in their camp. They obeyed of course, like the frightened minions they were, but she was so strangely authoritative on the matter. Even Gale could not think up a reason for the pail's use.

Elyra fills it with water. It's a bit heavy, but she tells herself that she's fared with much worse, and treads towards the hillside of their new camp. When she returns the owlbear runs up to her with glee.

"Water. Thirsty." The cub says. She sets down the bucket for a moment, allowing him to dip his beak inside.

"Alright, but just a bit. You can tell me when you want more." She smiles.

"Can I offer a hand?" Wyll lifts up her arm as he approaches her side. She stumbles, holding the bucket close to her chest before any drops spill.

"Well, no ... " She doesn't really have an excuse. If she tells Wyll that she's off to Astarion's bunk, would he be as inclined to help?

"I get it, you're a tough one. I'm saving you a nice, fat trout when you're done with all your errands. You've earned it."

"I'm looking forward to it." She says. As she looks past his shoulder, she spots a certain elf sitting by the fire pit, sharpening a curved dagger in his hand. Wyll notices her eyes press onto Astarion's back when he spins around.

"I'll catch you tonight then? For supper?" He asks. He's rather insistent, she thinks.

"If you can manage it. We may have to feast on squirrels again." Elyra teases. "I know that none of you are especially keen."

"I wouldn't complain."

"Hm. We'll see about that." She hums, then proceeds to walk towards the center of the camp. Wyll sees her off with a half-hearted smile. His dead eye lingers on the pair for a while as Astarion avidly tugs her down by the wrist. A sullen thought crosses Wyll's mind before he trudges away, unable to bear how Elyra's face lights up in Astarion's presence.

"Hello, darling." Astarion coos into her ear. "How did you sleep? I assume you've dreamt of me." Elyra sets down the bucket and sits parallel to him, which warrants a look of apprehension from the vampire.

"Wonderfully." She grins. "Now take off your shirt."

"I've always adored your plainness, but _what_ would the others think?" Astarion feigns a sound of shock, but his theatrics quickly cease when Elyra leans across to undo the hooks of his doublet. He frowns, but stands up to let her finish. Her fingers gently run atop the open patches of skin when she reaches his pelvis.

"It doesn't matter. _They're_ not going to help you, I am." She says confidently.

"With what? I hardly need the assistance." He lets out a snort, but can't help indulging himself with the feeling of her palms. She lays them on his chest, and looks up with large, almond-shaped eyes.

"Tell me, what would have happened if you were to have stuck your hand into the river? You can't even fetch a pail of water, can you?"

"You're going to bathe me?" He gives a wide smile, dimples dotting the ends of his mouth. "How can I possibly disapprove of that? What a delicious idea."

"I considered it, I'll admit, but no. I've merely brought you the water. You can see to the rest yourself." He groans in response.

"You're a horrible tease. I thought we made quite a connection last night." She sneers as she moves away, as though the prospect seems far too ridiculous for her to even consider. She knows the truth of those words, how vulnerable it would make her. They're frighteningly real.

"Please excuse me."

"Where do you think you're going?" He laughs, smothering a sound of incredulity in the base of his throat. His teeth shine in the sun.

"I never took my bath." She says.

"Well, I'll you see you there. You could do with a vigilant watch." He pauses, taking in the clueless gaze before him. "Darling, not to say that the thought was unappreciated, but do you really think one bucket alone will do?" He asks.

"If used correctly." She reminds him to use it sparingly, but Astarion has never known to be frugal with anything. Knowing him, he'd sooner dump the bucket over his head.

"I'm not a wood elf, or have you conveniently forgotten?" He gestures towards himself, making a show of his appearance. A glint catches his eye suddenly, the shine of a gemstone. He clasps the chain around Elyra's neck. A large, coral-colored jewel rests above the dip of her cleavage. "Who gave this to you? You seldom dress yourself with anything pretty. This must be something of rare importance, from a lover perhaps?"

Defensively, she moves away from the vampire. He's becoming too invasive, lax in his inquiries. Had the group not made a decision about digging into one another's personal lives from the beginning? Astarion may be someone who she can abandon herself to at times, but she isn't ready to talk about certain events of the past.

"Astarion, you can be a very dear companion, but don't make yourself unwanted. I didn't press you about your master. So, _don't_ do that with my feelings." Her eyes narrow, and she trods off towards the other end of the camp.

She tugs at her necklace, wondering why she still even has the horrid thing wrapped around her like a collar. It's a sunstone, and when viewed from a certain angle, emits a spangled array of light inside the crystal. Samaer had found it for her, off the corpse of a vagrant merchant who was unfortunate enough to meet an eleven arrowhead.

Elyra unclasps its silver clip, then unceremoniously hurls it into the rushing, white water.

"Ah, what a pity. That was one of the few pieces of jewelry you had." The redhead quickly turns on her feet. Astarion emerges past the thickets, his ever present smile taunting her, drawing her into him. He must have wasted no time with the bucket, his hair hardly damp.

"I suppose the runt didn't give you too many problems after our encounter? You seem so sprightly today, and I've always enjoyed seeing you like that." He grabs her by the waist, his tongue pressing against her throat and tracing the veins that spread across her skin. "I'm referring to Wyll of course. The little lordling just can't seem to take a hint."

" _Not_ with the others so near." She gasps.

"Well, they were so very close last night, but I didn't hear any _complaints_. In fact, I heard something rather different." He purrs. "You know what I think? I think you're too full of self-control."

"Do you really?"

"I also have many _other_ kinds of thoughts scattered in my mind." Elyra extends her hand, as if to encourage him.

"Then continue. _Please_."

"Well, if I must intrude where I'm not wanted, I would say that you're a bit undervalued." Elyra furrows her brows.

"In what way?" She chuckles. "I'm the one hunting for all the food. I would say that it's a big accomplishment." Astarion can't keep himself from smiling. She looks so proud of herself, strong and undaunted. She's not one to lack confidence.

"Yes, darling. I'm certain the others value that, but I was alluding to something else." He hesitates, piecing the correct words together.

"How were you treated in your clan?" He asks, a bit blunter than he intends. "Tell me, was it difficult to earn his affection? This wood elf of yours."

"He isn't mine." She protests.

"No? Dare I ask why, or would that be too sensitive of a topic?" Elyra makes no attempt to say anything. She just stares him down, those gorgeous, ruby eyes tempting her into submission. "In any case, I just have to make it apparent to you that I'm not like _any_ of them."

"You're a high elf." She notes plainly. "I don't have much experience with them personally, but what makes you any better?"

"It's true that there are particular judgements high elves make on wood elves. We just have different values, and we consider reveling in the luxuries of life rather than disregarding them. You're more pragmatic, which can be respectable, but you're also ... unique." He clears his throat, as if to emphasize the point he's about to make.

"You have a considerate heart. It gets us all into trouble at times, but I don't mind _thrusting_ myself into danger to slit a throat or two whenever you make a mistake." He hums.

"That's not always the situation, but you do well. I'll give you that much." She folds her arms, taking in his words.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you inviting me along to every intrepid adventure of yours. You need me to make the difficult decisions that you cannot. _You_ just need a step in the right direction. Remember that business with the ogre? Oh, that was _disgusting_." He shivers at the memory, but a delightful laugh resounds from the pit of his stomach.

"It's still a shame they had to die." Elyra shakes her head.

"They attacked us." He shrugs. "And what's a few less beasts in the world? _I_ say we did more good than bad." He takes a step closer, dragging a nail across her bottom lip. She nearly opens her mouth, a part of her wishing to melt into him again.

"Point being, you're wonderful. I think you deserve a touch more recognition. Don't you agree?" His voice edges to a whisper now, tongue dipping outside his mouth. He wets his lips hungrily. Elyra's eyes flicker across his pale skin with haste. She notices something peculiar, something about how his skin nearly glistens.

"You're a moon elf, aren't you?" She says it so sweetly that even Astarion can't resist the temptation to give her a kiss. He leans in, pecking her lightly on the cheek.

"Yes, darling." He laughs. "You're very astute, even more so than usual."

"So, you'd accept me as a half-elf?" She asks, almost doubtful.

"I don't see why not. While we're on the subject, you should know that the moon elves are the most tolerant of humans. _We've_ made more half-elves than you can imagine." He gloats, pride swelling inside him. He looks at her bare collarbone. "It's a shame about the necklace. I'll have to find something more fitting, however."

"Why?" She asks, a smile playing on her lips. "What would you have me wear?"

"Fur pelts and worn boots don't suit you, darling. Silk, jewels, and finery ... I'd bathe you in stars if I could." Astarion's low voice sends her into a spiral. The tadpole is squirming around again, dizzying her and making her sense fade away as the seconds pass.

"May I?" He presses a thumb on her neck, wrapping his entire hand around it soon enough. Elyra shuts her eyes. She wants to process the sensation this time, having nearly lost herself to his insatiable hunger. She raises her head to give him enough space, and he sinks his fangs into her with a bit of urgency.

She's close to falling at first, but Astarion holds onto her tightly, unwilling to let a drop go to waste. Elyra can feel how the blood rushes into his mouth as he gasps. She notices a wave of heat surge over her, the feeling soon displaced by the pleasure of him sucking at her throat. He begins to draw breath urgently, as though his sense of restraint is falling away from him.

"Astarion." She moans, burying her fingers into his curls. He makes a muffled sound in return, one filled with contentment. His impulse is devouring him. Astarion moves to untie the strap that holds her dress in one piece, but she places a hand on his to stop it from going any further.

"Not — Not yet." She's shuddering when he slips his hand under her dress impatiently. A growl lurches from the back of his throat. He clutches her thigh, softly flexing his fingers across the flesh. She's undeniably eager for him at this point. It doesn't take very much, but Elyra starts to feel a wetness emerge between her legs.

Blood begins to drip on the edge of her shoulder, trickling down her throat. Everything feels chilly now, like a rich lather of sweat has covered her skin, and Elyra urges Astarion to finish. She takes a step back towards the rushing water, which causes Astarion to get a handle of his current state. He lifts his mouth from her neck to see two spots of blood emerge from their holes. Astarion brushes his fingers over them, licking his hand clean.

"Darling." He sighs, cheeks dusted a faint pink. "Is there anything more invigorating than you?" Elyra tries to sort out his words in her head, but her skull is beating. She staggers.

"I feel unsteady. " Without warning, she immediately collapses onto the ground before them, her vision made black. Astarion drops to collect her within the safety of his arms.

The smell of iron wafts into the air, humidity from the river turning it thick.


	3. Less Than Half

Soft hands slide against her forehead, and she's able to make out a warm, whispering tone. Gale ventures to cast a spell, but her elven blood makes it difficult to effectively conjure one and shape it to her mind. Elyra doesn't respond to any of his magic. Her body goes as far as to resist it.

Wyll is fidgeting with impatience, his fingers tapping the side of his arm.

" _Don't_ touch her, Astarion. Let the others handle it, you selfish prick." He snaps, eyes shooting daggers Astarion's way. The high elf is trying to take a closer look at Elyra, a touch of guilt and worry churning in the bottom of his stomach. Wyll certainly knows where to press him.

"Selfish? Oh, so you wish to talk about being _selfish_." Astarion bites back. "Do you know why she collapsed so quickly? Because she hasn't had enough to eat herself. _Instead_ , she has to go off trotting in the woods every evening because none of you would know how to hunt a bloody mouse."

"You're a leech." Wyll says. Astarion snorts, an embittered smile tugging up his mouth.

"And what are you? Her dashing knight come to save her? I don't think so." He declares. "Besides, we all have leeches wedged inside our brains. There's no need to paint _me_ as the enemy, but I suppose you're simply another fool after all. Let us all blame the vampire, carve our stakes while we're at it!" He throws his hands up dramatically. A flood of anger rushes over Wyll, but he possesses just enough restraint to keep himself from lunging forward.

"She would have been better off in my company than yours, cold blood." A hint of uncertainty chokes in his voice. He swallows. Astarion can't help himself now, not when Wyll's doubt is clearly presented for him to unwrap like a beautiful gift. Astarion smugly moves towards Elyra's body, his hand drawing back a piece of her fire-touched hair.

He looks up with a galling set of eyes.

"Then you should ask yourself why she prefers making herself comfortable in my arms." Wyll's hand suddenly bursts into flames, and before Gale has a chance to bring them to their senses, Lae'zel is already at the pair's throats. The cold touch of steel flattens on their skin.

"I swear to the gods that I will cut you both down if you don't stop this incessant bickering." She snarls. The warlock's jaw shifts, as though he has something damning to say about Astarion. Taking a longer look at Lae'zel, and noticing how her pupils have become even scarcer, he allows it to pass.

"She's awake." Gale sighs out a breath of relief, light again, like it's been weighing him down until this very moment. Elyra's green eyes flutter ajar. That bit of color eases Astarion, and he whispers something close to gratitude.

"Elyra." Wyll moves to help her sit up as she takes in her surroundings. The five travelers all stare down at the wood elf. Her cheeks start to burn when she notices just how much attention she's receiving. "Elyra, how are you feeling? You had us all in a fright." He chuckles.

"Not all of us. The girl's fortitude is better than most. I knew she would make a swift recovery. If not, well, one less illithid." Lae'zel shrugs.

"Well, I'm not _dead_ , and as far as I'm concerned, I could do without hearing this right now. I feel like my skull is about to explode." Elyra is nearly beet red and breathless. She tries to disregard Lae'zel's cold-hearted assessment, but the fear of turning into a mindflayer slowly begins to encroach her head.

"She needs to drink something." Gale announces. Shadowheart raises her hand, finger pointed towards the river.

"I'll go boil the water." She says. Elyra is shivering, sweat dimpling her skin. It feels like it's been days since she's slept.

"Thank you, Gale." She nods in appreciation, holding onto the mage as he leads her to stand. She totters on her feet as she tries to situate herself, but otherwise, all seems just about ordinary. "I'm fine though. Really." Wyll stubbornly shakes his head.

"You're _not_ fine. You just have a soft spot for ... " He can't bring himself to speak Astarion's name, not when the vampire is so near. Elyra tightens up, eyes glancing towards Astarion and back to Wyll. She can pick out the tension between the two, but she doesn't care. She isn't particularly fond of waking to this mess.

"Why don't we all have a cup of wine by the fire?" She says. The proposal is unexpected, and the others give one another a mixed bag of reactions. "If all of you haven't eaten, come back with a bottle when my head doesn't feel like it's being ripped open."

"Gale, can you get the fish? I still don't think she looks right." Wyll's eyes narrow into beads. He sees how terribly bruised she is under the moon's light, how the puncture wounds on her neck are colored a fading blue. Speckles of violet linger on her skin from where the holes are placed. Her body is already repairing herself, but it had an extreme reaction to the bite.

She quickly covers that side of her neck with her palm.

"Wyll, please." Elyra finds the end of her patience, gritting out a small retort from between her teeth. "If you're so concerned, then grant me some peace of mind by going with the others." He says nothing in return, his mismatched eyes boring into her. The silence between them begins to drag.

His hounding gaze tells her that he's resolute in his decision, feet planted firmly to the ground. Lae'zel nearly hisses and stomps away. She's unimpressed by the drama, finding that striking down another beast in the forest would make for a better use of her time.

"Yes, splendid idea. And dear Astarion can fetch the drink." Gale places a hand on Astarion's shoulders, warning him not to edge too close. The elf is undoubtedly annoyed, but sees no reason to upset Elyra anymore than she is, what with Wyll doing a fantastic job at it already.

The three diverge in separate directions, leaving Elyra and Wyll to settle themselves around the fire pit. The warlock doesn't waste a moment and churns up a ball of fire in the middle of his hand. He throws it into the center of the pit, watching as the wood catches and creates a bright spectacle of orange. Once the flames sear down, Wyll sits beside Elyra, who is currently fidgeting with her braid.

"Elyra — " He cuts himself off, not quite knowing where to begin, or how. He's clumsy with words, clumsy around her twisting, ginger hair and half-pointed ears. "I have to know something. Do you ... have a preference?"

"An odd way to greet me after all that." She says, eyes downcast and focused on her braid.

"Sorry, just, I reckon we could do with a lighter conversation. Something ... I don't know." He rubs the back of his head in defeat. That breath of courage wasn't easy, and he hopes that she can see past his ungainly ways. Elyra crosses her legs.

"That depends on what you mean." She sighs. She'd much rather have her companions blurt out what they really want sometimes. It was never this difficult with her clan, even when they weren't the most caring towards her. Someone would sooner throw a mud pie at her than keep their mouth shut. And that was when they were insulting her no less.

"I guess what I'm trying to ask is if you prefer human men or elven men? Or something else entirely? I don't want to limit your ... " He pauses, finding the right word on the tip of his tongue. "Options."

"Options." She repeats, like a hot hammer hitting an anvil. "Is that what you think I have with a tadpole burrowed in my head? Options?" A smile graces her features at the most inopportune times, including now. She should very well be upset. She can't understand it herself, but it's the way her companions bring up certain topics to broach. There's too much wordplay, an evasion, but it makes her feel light at the end of it all.

"Now more than ever." He chuckles.

"I — " A bottle of sweet, pomegranate wine is pushed in front of her face. She throws her head back, seeing Astarion's white curls and easy smile. He sits in between her and Wyll naturally, making it so that the warlock knows his place among the hierarchy for her affection. Astarion isn't wrong of course, he's simply rude, and the wine surely won't aide him in being any kinder.

" _This_ should be interesting." He says as he plops down, grabbing the bottle and uncorking the lid. The smell instantly moves up her nose. "Go on, don't let me spoil your fun. Our friend here wants to know." Astarion eagerly pours himself a cup of wine, sliding another chalice between his deft fingers and giving it to Elyra. She takes it, and when she sees the knowing grin spread across his lips, nervously clears her throat.

Wyll taps the heel of his boot on the ground.

"Three's a crowd. I get it." He doesn't expect an answer now, knowing what effect the vampire has on Elyra's state of mind. If her reaction is indicative of anything, Elyra prefers elves. A pity for him, but Wyll isn't one to brood.

"I've never shared an amorous relationship with another elf." She begins. Hope sprouts in Wyll's chest, dismay in Astarion's. "Most people think being a wood elf is sleeping in the dirt and shooting arrows with leisure. It's nothing of the sort, in fact, I lived in a rather developed community." She sifts through her memory, recalling the smell of thistle and brambleberries, and waking at dawn as the sun just barely peaked over the horizon.

"There were no other half-elves in my city. Sprawling branches of the Winding Woods, filled with dozens of families and their kin. Yet, still. They rejected me — my blood. It wasn't what the wood elves had in mind when isolating themselves from the world after all. Inbreeding was preferable." She says with a smile. She turns her attention to the empty cup in hand, fingers tracing the rim.

"I suppose that I was still family, as much as my clan didn't wish it to be. What to make of a half-elf? They could forbid me from venturing into human settlements. They could banish me from ever stepping into those woods altogether. They could poison me, bunches of nightshade at their disposal. What did the elders decide instead?" She remembers how they reeked, the berries, like blood in her hands. Death was more desirable than what her clan wished from her.

She was considering it. If not for the mindflayer ship that hovered above the treeline, she may have already been well into the ground.

"They told me that I was to lie with an elf, and no less. If I were to spread my revolting bloodline any further, I may as well try to restore it. I would be paying for my parents' wrongdoing, but I could also bring about restoration. Granted, it did madden them knowing that two generations would be at risk. After all, a half and a whole does not make another whole." She all but laughs.

" _Zenar_. They used that word."

"What does that mean?" Wyll prods, oblivious to the fact that the subject makes Elyra uneasy. Astarion is well-versed in the True Tongue, having spent a hundred years or so enraptured by its script, and is easily able to recognize the slur.

"It means _less than half_. It's an insult used on those born from a half-elf and a human. I'll assume that they didn't want her to consummate with _your_ kind. Such a pity." He points a deliberate eye at Wyll. The saccharine smell of the wine drips from his mouth, and he turns to Elyra once he's poured himself another cup to drink. "Your clan is very tolerant in my opinion, they could have killed you, but instead you were forced to become a brooding mare."

She stares at him, wondering what part of his own words he believes. Astarion is playful, quick-witted, but there's always some truth in what he conjures. She recalls the story of him, half-dead and clinging to a promise of life. He claims that an eternity of servitude is better than oblivion, but does he truly prefer it to dying? She can't believe that.

"Then what? You were spirited away before any of that could occur?" Wyll chimes in, curious.

"Something of the sort."

"What of your parents? Surely they objected to this kind of treatment." He says. Astarion gives him an irritable look before taking a long sip from the chalice. It seems he can make an educated guess on the matter, what with his tree-climbing cousins being so intolerant.

"I'm sure they would have if they were alive. My father supposedly perished in a hunting accident, my mother in childbirth. Of course, that's what the elders had told me anyway. Let's take their word for it and drink to that." She tilts her head.

"So, humans it is then?" Wyll brings forth some humor, which causes Elyra to buckle over in laughter.

"No, I'm not certain." She ponders the implication for a moment. "I've grown up with elves, surely I cant simply shake that away." Astarion raises his brows. Wyll clears his throat with a cough, eyes finding the dim, flickering light of the bonfire.

"Fair enough. I suppose you were raised in a culture that encouraged you to look at them with lovelorn eyes." Elyra takes the glass bottle from Astarion's hand, fingers brushing against his cold, pale skin. It's strange. He's so different from her, moonlit hair and eyes as red as the wine. She has to wonder what he truly thinks about her, about all of this. Would he have liked her if they all weren't two steps in front of death's door?

"None for _you_." Gale plucks the half-emptied bottle from her fingertips before she even has the opportunity to ask. She doesn't know if the smell has given her courage, but she looks at the elf with a parted mouth, the whites of her eyes pleading with him. He takes her in eagerly.

"Let the poor dear have some. I like it when her tongue is loose." Astarion gives her a flirtatious look, fangs resting on his bottom lip.

"Astarion — " Gale's tone drops an octave.

"What? I'm only letting her do as she likes."

"Which is not always the proper solution to our problems." The mage holds a sour gaze but says nothing more. Astarion shrugs. He takes the bottle again and pours what's left inside Elyra's chalice. It's a bit flagrant, but Elyra appreciates the gesture.

"If the tadpole hasn't killed us yet, I doubt some wine will. _Drink_ , darling." Elyra swallows a gulp and chortles. The sweetness floods her mouth, hints of plum laced in the aftertaste. She can't gather herself to ask where he's found such a delight, already wobbling in a drunken numbness. Shadowheart has arrived with a kettle of water soon enough. She places it over the fire, flames dancing underneath its copper belly when she joins the others.

The party talks for what seems like hours, shifting from bold tales of bravery to chatter of assorted sweets. Chocolates are Shadowheart's favorite, unsurprisingly, which prompts Gale to offer stirring up a batch if they ever come across the right ingredients. Astarion snorts at this. Eventually, the noise is too overbearing for Lae'zel who returns to berate the others before she inevitably takes part in the festivities herself. Soon everyone is either drunk on the wine or the laughter.

"And then he _spit_. He absolutely spit in my face, the foul creature." Shadowheart continues her story, which has Wyll in absolute shambles as he tries to pick himself back up and onto the log seat. Lae'zel interrupts.

"Did you at least rip him apart in the end? Lacerate him?"

"No prodding." Shadowheart clicks her tongue, the sweet wine urging her to respond in fullness. "But yes, I did."

Another burst of laughter erupts from all of them. Elyra shivers when a sudden breeze of sharp air pricks at her neck. She still feels remnants of what had happened, the cold sweat enveloping her once more. Astarion brushes a hand against her cheek attentively when he notices her discomfort.

"What about you, Elyra? Any riveting tales from your time as a half-elf?" Shadowheart asks.

"Nothing so comical."

"My, you're nearly as quiet as I am on this. No hiding your ears under a cowl? No pathetic, boorish men reaching under your skirt?" The half-elves look at one another with an understanding of sorts, with a feeling of empathy. "We tend to always find the extremes, don't we? Such is our nature." Shadowheart grins, taking another generous drink from her cup.

"I suppose that's why you like Astarion so much. Very, very extreme." Sudden embarrassment rides through Elyra's skin, warm and unpleasantly intense. Wyll shifts awkwardly as reality hits him like the pommel of a sword. Astarion leans forward, meanwhile, keen on furthering this conversation.

"Oh? And how would you know that, flower?" He coos.

"I may have done some prodding. Guilty."

"You — Shadowheart. You can't do that, you know. It's unethical!" Elyra raises her voice in protest, not even realizing when Shadowheart decided to go rummaging about. Usually she's intuitive enough to catch an attempt on a mind reading, but the smell of pomegranate and plum has her head muddled. Shadowheart simply smiles. She's dismissive, uncaring really.

"Best we turn over for the night." Wyll says. The cleric yawns in return, tipping her chalice over and watching the wine soak into the grass.

"I agree. It will be a dreadful morning if we prattle on for so long."

Shadowheart is the first to leave, Gale following suit. He gives Elyra a consoling squeeze on the shoulder, although he isn't exactly worried about her feelings for Astarion, more so relieved that they're fully out in the open. It was all quite obvious. Wyll and Lae'zel make their way towards their bunks, the warlock eyeing Astarion unsurely.

Elyra prepares herself to venture out into the woods. Perhaps she'll never return, finding Astarion's triumphant grin all the more humiliating.

"So, I'm your preferable consort. That was lovely to know. Thank you for that bit of confidence, darling." Astarion's arrogance is immeasurable, especially when confronted with this knowledge. "Not that it was ever needed." He adds under his breath, smiling to himself.

The redhead shoots him a glare.

"Speechless, I see. May I share that I find you to be apart of my _tastes_ as well? You know, in all my years I've never met a wood half-elf. I suppose most people don't like a good, old-fashioned rump in the forest." He matches her height and more when he stands. His fingers begin to make their way towards her small, guarded body. She hesitates, but then allows herself to feel the coolness of his touch.

"Is there anyone you couldn't have?" Elyra asks, a reluctant smile curling her lips. Astarion is momentarily stumped by the question, but then an image of a girl forms just as quickly, one that conveys a striking resemblance to Elyra herself.

"There was a bard. Stout, lovely thing with blonde curls. A bit like you in fact." He rubs her neck, cautious not to irritate the wound he so lovingly placed. "Same gorgeous eyes." He purrs.

"What became of this bard?" She hums as his hands cling to the fat on her hips, sinking into them.

"I'm not sure. I never saw her again, not in the taverns where she performed at least. Ah, they were so busy, and so full of delicious treats all waiting for a turn." Astarion clutches her dress and tugs her towards him, licking his mouth in anticipation.

"Where was this?"

"Baldur's Gate of course." He replies.

"Do you miss it?" She has to know. It's a simple inquiry, but there's something deeper burrowed there. A test of will perhaps? Astarion blinks, slight confusion touching his eyes. A whimsical smile hangs on the end of his face when she gazes up at him like a doe.

"How much can one miss a cage, I wonder? Mind you, there's golden fringes, but it's a sort of paradox in the end. You should know that better than anyone." He pauses. "Like calls to like, yes? I'll assume you are not as inclined to revisit your clan." Elyra stays silent on the matter, preferring to press her body against the vampire's chest, almost to the point where it feels indecent.

" _Oh_ , I thought so." He groans.

"We shouldn't have indulged ourselves on an empty stomach." Astarion pouts for show.

"Don't go about blaming the wine for your desires, sweetheart. You want me, same as I."

"Would that be so horrible?" She gives into it for a passing moment. She has to wonder why she's insistent on resisting him, as though she has anything to lose in this precarious disaster they've found themselves exploring together. Astarion's eyes widen in astonishment, unprepared to hear such a fearless answer from his fledgling archer. "Is it really surprising to want someone like you? Devilishly handsome with a silver tongue. You're like a dream." She chuckles.

" _Careful_." He growls. "I'd hate to see that fine dress of yours all torn up by the end of this."

"What's preventing you?" He isn't sure whether that's a challenge or an idle quip, but he yearns for it to be the former.

"From ripping into you like a batch of chocolates? From tearing your _petals_ apart?" Auntie Ethel comes to mind, the odorous hag. "Nothing, dear. You need only say the word."

Elyra adjusts the quiver that's haphazardly flung on the edge of her shoulder, arrows jumping in place. Her eyes trail towards the side of the camp and only spring up when she feels assured of her answer. She doesn't know how to quite go about this, but he's inspired her to act on her emotions, a bit impulsively.

It's an alluring proposition, the sight of Astarion stripped to just his trousers, wanton, his coy fingers playing with her pearl.

"I'm not a virgin." She admits, closely watching Astarion's expression turn into a covetous hunger. "But I'm true to my word. I've never had an elf. Would you be willing to change that — provided that you would like an old-fashioned rump in the forest?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, uh, I hate my writing all of a sudden! It's probably because I've recently gotten back into reading (jk university has ripped away every chance of a hobby I've ever had). Yeah, so lots of comparison to all the wonderful work out there. I swear AO3 writers are in a league of their own. 
> 
> To be fair, I originally just wanted to write vampire elf porn, but the complexities of world-building and lore has gained my interest. In case you're wondering, smut in the next chapter! Thank you so much for all the amazing comments as well! Much appreciated :')


	4. Rendevous

Astarion crooks his skull to better drink in the sight unraveling before his eyes. Elyra is picking her emerald dress apart, buttons undone by the mere slip of her fingers, fabric rustling delicately and dripping from her body. It's enough to make any man impatient, but Astarion is especially in need of a proper glance.

His eyes trail the curvature her body makes in the shadows, and sees it's nothing more than a thin silhouette of round odds and ends. Moonlight shades her skin. Tangled pieces of her tresses slip across her cleavage. He isn't usually reserved when it comes to the prospect of what is about to take place, but Elyra is not very usual herself. He makes out her pointed ears, how charmingly short they are in comparison to his, and soon notices how her hands have been untying and retying a sash for the past quarter hour.

The slit of skin he glimpses; however, tips him over the edge.

"How much longer must you have me wait? I can simply pull back that frock of yours. Sweep your hair away for a better view, one that may not be concealed _intentionally_. It makes me curious as to what exactly you're hiding." He turns his head for a moment, thinking. "You're lucky I'm so well-mannered."

The silence of the forest invades Elyra's mind before she moves her attention to the languid vampire. He's sitting on what appears to be a root, thickly coated in moss and spreading through the ground before it bursts under a large tree. A bed of mountain flowers grows beside him, lilacs and orchids, speckled with drops of rain.

It's been some time since Elyra has undressed for such a purpose. She's stalling, fidgeting with the details of her gown, or dragging her naked feet across the dirt in a dry pace. It's circles. She may as well just walk away if she's to behave like this, make up some terrible excuse, pretend like she really hadn't so bluntly suggested getting on her hands and knees for none other than Astarion. Ever keen, he clicks his tongue and urges her to double her efforts.

"It would do well if you would not _stare_." She huffs.

"Don't be so coy." He dismisses. He should blame the wine or create another relatively simple pretense to deflect from his growing cock, but he doesn't. He's choking with frustration, which makes it somewhat taxing to hold onto reason. He can smell her excitement, how her blood is pounding in the threshold of her veins, the sound almost striking. "I don't see much use in peeling away those layers alone, do you?" He begins to stand up, but Elyra just further retreats into the darkness. She's holding up her gown.

"It's just the one. And _invitations_ are not so dated, Astarion."

"Have I ever told you how obscenely clever you are? If only you spoke more. It suits you better than you would think, darling."

"Clever you say. Shall I have you along to my baths from now?" She snickers, praising herself for the debased turn of thoughts. She finally manages to unclip the last hook etched in the cloth. "Why not? After all, you won't even be able to have me until I arrive on the bank. That is — if you can capture me. Then we may see how thin your mask wears." Astarion greatly dislikes this, watching in what appears to be forced patience, his eyes turning as dark as molasses.

"So, you _are_ capable of wicked ideas. I'll keep that in mind when you're pondering over what to do with our enemies." He hums. "I don't want to hear anymore protest after this. You'll be agreeable and listen to my _suggestions_ in the coming future, yes?" She's about to open her mouth when she immediately reconsiders. Astarion catches the way her breath hitches, that adorable redness blossoming in her cheeks as a result.

He nearly contrived her into agreeing.

"That depends." She laughs. Elyra leaves her dress discarded. Pale light washes up on her skin like a shore, and she all but shines under the moon. Astarion makes no attempt to conceal the bulge in his trousers, content with gazing at her darling face, then down to her sex. A patch of ginger hair decorates the spot between her legs tactfully. Her body moves towards him at his beckoning, not quite ready for the onslaught she is assuredly about to face, but Astarion is already indulging himself with his hands.

"It depends on how well I pleasure this temple of yours, I imagine." His fingertips are cool to the touch, sparking a vicious wave of what feels like frostbite on her skin. Astarion's thumb slides against her breast, rubbing her bud as sensitively as he can. "Let me see." He croons.

"I didn't say that you could touch me." Her breath quivers at his voice, and her words are at best a barrage of slurs. Her mind is becoming trapped in a haze. Astarion is profoundly aware of this. He revels in her weakness, desires it really.

"Your fortitude is admirable, dear. But may I suggest not being so utterly _drenched_ when discussing what I may or may not do? It's very telling."

Elyra settles herself in between his legs. He spreads them, keeping her above his shoulders while she considers what to do with herself in the meanwhile. Astarion takes his movements in a leisured pace, overturning her wrist, peppering it with slow, inviting kisses as he drags his mouth across her skin.

She brushes her fingers against his groin when he's preoccupied, and finds his rigid shaft nearly twitch in response. He hisses, jolts, then adjusts her frame, bouncing her on his lap. His collar begins to suffocate him with heat. He could easily become overwhelmed if he isn't careful. She has that effect on him.

"Do you want it now?" He says tersely. "Or shall I attend to you ... as you deserve?"

"Be — " She draws back in another long breath when Astarion's lips wring around her throat. "Be as attentive as you'd like." She manages.

"I plan to, dear. You're much too bewitching." His mouth dimples, and she can feel his grin carve into the side of her neck. Elyra shifts in his grasp, panting and puffing, gooseflesh strewn along her skin. "Adorable." Astarion hums.

"Don't lie."

"You wound me, darling. I think we're _well_ beyond those games we like to play, wouldn't you agree?" For a moment, as brief and passing as it is, Astarion sounds offended. "I could give you so much pleasure — if you would _just_ — give into this." He purrs into her ear, lips still tracing her battering pulse. His mouth jumps from her neck soon enough, cascading down her soft breasts, trailing the edges of her abdomen until he reaches her belly.

Astarion handles her with care, supporting her hips as he raises her from his chest. Her hands can touch his shoulder blades now. So, she starts to unlace his shirt in the meantime, ebony silk welcoming her slender fingers. Astarion enjoys how they feel, how comforting and familiar they are, like sunlight melting into his skin. He scatters kisses between her legs, the wet side of his lips dragging along her thighs.

He sucks without warning, tongue sliding against her entrance when he opens his mouth, careful not to graze her with his teeth in the process. The angle is inconvenient, Astarion's head pushed far below the line of her waist, and she nearly knocks him from the seat. He licks her inner depths, teasing, running his tongue along every possible recess she can offer.

"I have the mind to contort you in any way I please." He says lowly. "I'd like to see you begging underneath me."

"Would you?" Elyra asks, breathless. "I — _oh_!" Astarion begins to pump two fingers inside her, and she already feels like she's a sopping mess for him, wanton and deprived of his cock without ever having it. His fingers continue their assault until they curl inside her like a hook. Astarion inwardly praises Elyra for being so tight-fitting as she begins to clamp around them. It would be impossible to add another finger, but this all the more excites the vampire.

"Don't worry, darling. I'll play with you soon enough." He sticks out his tongue for emphasis, smiling when he pulls it back. The sight of his fangs makes her stomach collapse in on itself, that familiar ache churning a sick, light-headed feeling. She can't focus on his words too much without her legs buckling. "Kiss me." He whispers, eyes poignantly locked onto her pink lips. She kisses him with steadfast desire before just as quickly being denied his taste. He forces himself to pull away.

"Now face your back to me." He orders. She slumps down from her knees immediately. He cradles her in his arms, affectionate in how he presses her wrists. "Such an obedient, little vixen. Aren't you _just_? Your body is so responsive. I wonder, do you like me?" He guffaws.

His hand slips beneath her once more.

"Of course I like you. Oh — _fuck_." He rewards her with a twist of his fingers.

"And do you like what I'm doing to you?" Astarion breathes onto her throat. "Do you like how filthy _wet_ you are for me? How your tiny, precious hole is just weeping at my touch? You want to be filled like a common whore, don't you?" His voice is barely a whisper. "If we met in Baldur's Gate, I would have gladly purchased you for nights on end. I _might_ have even made you my personal bedwarmer. Always waiting with your legs spread _wide_ open."

"I wouldn't be a whore." She objects, scarlet roses spreading in her face.

"No? A pretty, little half-elf like yourself? Without a house, a crest? Please, darling, the nobles would eat you alive." He smiles, bouncing her in his lap again.

"But I don't like _sharing_. I'd want _all_ of you to myself." He appears to be exploring the possibilities. "Mn, you'd be quite expensive. I wonder how long it would take until you and your dripping cunt would feel sore. I'd give you your weight in silver, but I _don't_ think you'd ask me to pay, hm?" That last insinuation is what causes her to whine, pampered by his practiced fingers and his enticing words. She shudders at the thought, knowing well that it would be exactly as Astarion described. He could have her as he pleased, without a coin in his pocket.

"You're going to make me lose myself." She cries out weakly, overstimulated, climbing the path to euphoria. He ignores her plea, continuing to rub precise circles atop her clitoris.

"And if I were still a magistrate, well, I think you know how _that_ would turn out. Perhaps I'd let you go if you _behaved_ , opened this lovely mouth of yours at command." He gives a strong laugh, one that comes right from his stomach. "Oh, darling. I think you would never leave my bed if that were the case." He continues to detail his fantasies in full. He wishes to spoil her in all matters, degrade her at worst.

"My cohorts would like you without any effort on your part. Red hair and half-pointed ears. They'd gladly take you in a back room and have their way with you, take their turns even! Bind you with leather, magic, anything to see your _sweet_ face. But I'd make sure that you could only think of me, look at me, _plead_ with me to have your body and soul."

"I could always fuck you in your cell. No, rather, I _would_." He corrects himself with a chortle, teeth edging over his bottom lip in a sneer. Elyra lets out a choked sound, gasping in quick bouts when he fastens the pace inside her. His fingers prune with her wetness, thumb scraping her pearl, and she withers in the elf's arms.

" _Louder_. I want to hear you moan for me." Astarion growls.

"Please." She begs, not knowing whether she wants him to stop or continue, not knowing where her mind is through it all. Astarion runs his tongue down her neck as he maintains his iron hold. She fidgets to some degree, digging her head into the curve of his neck when she feels something come over her. Astarion doesn't even allow her that, and kisses her with such forceful intensity that it could almost be mistaken for anger.

Before she can react, Astarion gathers her in the center of his hands and picks her up against his own body. She crosses her ankles together once she manages to squeeze around his pelvis. Her hands eagerly cling onto his shoulders for good measure, and Astarion leans in for a gentler kiss.

"You're wonderfully sweet." He whispers in between another peck, and her hands find his torso again, this time spreading apart the silk until his undershirt fully slides from his chest. His hands tightly clutch the bottom of her thighs.

"Would you ... " Elyra tries to find the words that avail her, but instead opts for a display. Her neck stretches wide, leaving a beautiful vision of skin for him to push his teeth into if he so prefers. Astarion picks up on what she's asking rather swiftly.

"As tempting as you are, darling, I shouldn't want to risk you passing out on me. I don't exactly aspire for the others to see you like this, not unless you're shut around me." He wets his lips. She nods, a bit of relief finding her again. She wasn't sure if she could last had he partaken.

Astarion looks up at the oak tree behind them, watching for any wayward thistles on the ground as he steps towards it. Elyra's fingers inadvertently slip to his back for more support, and suddenly, her heart pumps slower than before when they come across the rough texture of a scar. She briskly moves her fingertips to his jaw before Astarion can react in any discomfort. He pushes her against the trunk of the tree, tongue urgently writhing against hers as his teeth rasp over her mouth.

"Turn around." He says. Elyra unbinds her feet and does as he commands, standing on her toes when she faces the bark. Astarion seizes her hands and places them on the cool metal of his belt, which prompts the half-elf to turn her head in curiosity, but Astarion hastily grabs her by the neck and twists her skull back.

"No, no, darling." He laughs. "You're going to do this without looking. I want to see how gorgeous you'd look with some rope."

Elyra understands the appeal for him, having her bound like a petty criminal, awaiting her trial at his mercy. She can't imagine Astarion in a magistrate's uniform, nor what kind of person he ultimately was. Could he have been as strict and cruel as she assumes them to be, or is this merely some added excitement that her mind conjured? In any case, she unlatches the belt with relatively no trouble. Astarion grins at how compliant Elyra is being, how enthusiastic she is for the elf to sheathe himself inside her.

He takes out his shaft, rubbing it idly between his fingers until Elyra's hands bump against it. Her instinct is to jerk them towards the tree, and Astarion blinks as he takes in her reaction, unable to contain his roaring laughter. He stipples kisses against the nape of her neck as a flush touches her ears.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart. I understand this is a first, but I promise I'll be _very_ accommodating." He coos. She places her palms on the irregular surface of the bark, hoping that he'll stay true to his word and take it easy on her. It's been months, if not a year, that she's had anyone. Astarion leans across her, his lithe body compressed against her back, his muscles twitching as he presses a hand into the space above her head.

He slides his cock against her entrance, slowly, methodically. She breathes through her nostrils in a controlled effort to stay a step ahead. Astarion sees through this, and continues to press the warm head around the hole. With the way she has her back arched, Astarion has a wonderful sight before him. Her ass, just as the night before, is round and thick in his palm. In what she can only describe as pleasure, Astarion finally shoves the full base of his cock inside her, one hand placed on the cusp of her rear. He sets a comfortable pace, penetrating her tautness with as much control as he can muster.

"You're plump." He expels, a sordid sigh in between the revelation. It's unexpected. "And full, and by the _hells_. You're practically sucking me in, darling." Her figure is well-appreciated, beautifully constructed after years of hunting and jumping through the branches of her forest home. Tense muscles constrict in her arms as she props herself up, but Astarion quickly sees to shoving her back onto the lowest point of the tree. He holds her there, hand crushing into her shoulder blade with possessiveness.

"I want you down." Another groan of pure, startling pleasure spills from his lips. Astarion rocks his body into her, rutting, unable to contain himself when she involuntarily clenches around his shaft. He grunts in surprise. The softness of her walls is only overshadowed by how they constrict his cock into torture. He huffs out a shallow breath.

"You're not a virgin, you say? Perhaps you're so deliciously tight because I have you bent over like a little whore. I imagine this must feel exquisite for you, getting fucked in the middle of the woods." The more he talks to her, as degrading and crass as he can be, the more she enjoys him. He rips into her just as promised, a sugared, syrupy sweet waiting to be devoured. The feeling of fullness is almost too much for her to bear, and Elyra suddenly feels the urge to sob.

"Astarion." It's said with desperation. He adores her, the way his name tumbles from her lips, how she abandons her pride in these rare moments of intimacy between them. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was tied to her for lack of a better phrase. She's a comparatively delightful person to get along with, as much as they come across their disagreements, which are mainly founded on Astation's moral compass, or lack thereof. He very much enjoys her presence, and frankly, wouldn't mind if this became a frequent occurrence. He may just have to work her role of bedwarmer in at a tavern somehow.

"Oh, _gods_. That's so good." Elyra sings praise of his technique when he tugs her by the hair. One harsh wrench exposes her neck, and Astarion wastes no time in squeezing it as roughly as he can, leaving her little room to breathe. She closes her eyes in bliss.

"I've wanted this for some time now. Don't you dare deny that you _love_ this." He smiles, scrunching his brows together. "You wanted me to ravage you from the very start." Elyra moans in response, conceding with just how much she relishes this feeling. The memory of their meeting floods her mind like an ocean wave.

"It's wonderful." She croons.

"Oh, my dearest. You have no conceivable idea of what _wonderful_ is. I can give you so much more." Astarion utters, quickening the rhythm his hips have set. "In fact — I don't plan on this being the last time we're tangled as one. Not when you — feel so fucking tight. _Hells_."

Elyra looks back at him, his jaw clenched and his handsome face contorted with ecstasy. Astarion keeps relentlessly pounding into her, bringing both of them to the edge of their collective delight. He lasts for a considerable amount of time before they're overcome by a crescendo. Elyra comes, her walls tightening around his cock until there's almost nothing left of him, and Astarion releases his seed right down her center. Elyra settles into the ground, out of air, her tresses sticky with sweat.

Astarion can't help but tilt her head up one last time for a kiss, the feeling chaste and tender against her chest.


End file.
